


no need to be so bitter

by chameleontattoos



Series: Pentagon Coffee Shop AUs [3]
Category: Pentagon (Korean Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-14 21:02:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11791416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chameleontattoos/pseuds/chameleontattoos
Summary: based on the prompt "i’m the manager and one of the other employees keeps drawing amazing art on the chalkboards, but i can’t figure out who it is?? i’ve been keeping a meticulous schedule to figure out whose shift it appears during."(rated teen for swears and a sex reference just to be safe)





	no need to be so bitter

“How is it that colour? We don’t even _have_ that colour.” Hui complains, hands on hips, scowling at the art on the menu board. Why him? Why does this keep happening? Why is he the only manager in this God-forsaken coffee shop who cares that there’s a guerrilla artist on the payroll?

Shinwon stands beside him, looking up at the art on the chalkboard with an indecipherable smile on his face. “No, we don’t.”

Hui knows that the pastry chef knows something, but try as he might he’s never been able to get Shinwon to spill his secrets. He’d have more success breaking into Area 51. He tries regardless. “Do you know who it is? I want to, uh… _congratulate_ her.”

He does, that’s not a lie. And ask them if they went to Van Gogh school or something. But as the manager he as a responsibility to manage their resources. Chalk is a _limited_ resource, by George, and knowing at the very least the appropriate pronoun will help him narrow down the list of suspects. “Her? Him? Them?” Everyone uses at least one of those, right? He’s pretty sure that’s right.

Shinwon looks away from the mystery artist’s chalky rendition of the Wonderland tea party and raises an eyebrow. “I might.”

Hwitaek latches onto the tenuous thread. “Well, who–”

“Nope.” Shinwon interrupts him, popping the ‘p’. “I’m pretending I’ve been sworn to secrecy.”

Hwitaek wants to hit him over the head with a group handle. He could manage it. The coffee machine is just over there.

He resists the urge like the Terminator of a manager he is. He’s on the clock, on CCTV, and like Athena said in the first Percy Jackson film, war is not the answer.

“Your eye twitched.” Shinwon giggles.

Hwitaek gives him a pointed look. “Am I supposed to be _happy_ that you’re making my life more difficult than it should be?”

Shinwon pretends to think for a second. Hwitaek can tell he’s pretending, because Shinwon’s legitimate thinking face doesn’t involve such a wide shit-eating grin. “Yes.”

Oh, now _that_ doesn’t even make _sense_. This will not stand. “Don’t you have croissants to bake?” Hwitaek says, forcibly turning Shinwon back in the direction of the kitchen. “Go bake your croissants, Pastry Man.”

He resumes squinting thoughtfully at the chalk art after Shinwon _finally_ leaves him alone. He’s going to get to the bottom of this mystery. His managerial honour demands he unmask the Phantom of the Café.

He’ll have to be smart about this. Methodical. Use every tool at his disposal.

He heads into the office to look at the roster. Every good investigation begins with an extended list of suspects, and by gum is he going to thoroughly examine his.

 

It takes him a month and a half, during which a new piece of chalk art appears pretty consistently every week on the same day, and he suffers constantly, but he finally triumphs over the gods of chaos and discord and absolutely _awful_ handwriting. Seriously, who writes these rosters?

The point is, he gets there eventually. Suck a tiny, unsatisfying dick, Shinwon.

“Only a month and a half?” Jinho had said to him. “Nice work.” Jinho’s penchant for morale-boosting offhand compliments is just one of the many reasons why he’s Hwitaek’s best bosom buddy.

“It took you that long?” Shinwon had also said to him. Hwitaek makes him steam clean the pastry oven twice over for that comment. Even if he is right, insubordination must be paid for.

Shinwon rants at him about how he could have gone about this a whole lot easier than he chose to, and if he wasn’t already steam cleaning the pastry oven (worst chore in the café by far) Hwitaek would have made him do it do that too.

Anyway, Hwitaek finds himself with a day off work. Somewhat counter-intuitively, he’s going to pack up some of his study materials and spend the afternoon abusing his free food and drink managerial privileges. Ordinarily he would rather die than go to work on a day when he doesn’t get paid to show up, but this is a special occasion.

This is a _Thursday_. Artist Person, alias ‘Kim Hyojong’ always does their art on Thursdays. His trap is ready to be sprung. He’s gonna catch them in the act. Red-handed.

Or, non-existent-shade-of-purple-handed, as it were.

No, he’s not over that. Imagine being so obnoxious about chalk art colours that you mix them together. God.

Hwitaek is halfway through watching and taking notes on this week’s lecture when he notices some suspicious activity at the far end of the counter, where someone has their head bent over the ceramic bowl in which resides the coffee shop’s selection of menu board-writing chalk.

He doesn’t make his move yet. It could be a false alarm. He’ll wait until their guilt is guaranteed. As much as it pains him, he’ll wait until they’ve made their art.

And wait he does, until they’ve finished filling in the body of the last cartoon duck.

He scoots out of his booth, sidling up next to the counter. “Excuse me?”

He doesn’t know what he was expecting a person who draws illegal chalk art to look like, but it’s not… _This_. He really has no idea how to react to this development.

“ _You_ drew this?” Hwitaek is rather taken aback.

Hyojong, artist extraordinaire apparent, has his collar popped, is wearing several too many woven leather monstrosities tied around one wrist and a disproportionately small number of – are those _silly bandz?_ – stretched around the other, six acid green rings – twelve total – stuck through the shell of each ear, has his work shirt – not the back, just the front – tucked into jeans with large rips in both knees, is wearing one of those embarrassing black and white checkerboard print skater belts to hold up said jeans, and has a good three quarters of an inch of dark regrowth sprouting forth from the roots of a dye job that isn’t blond or light brown but somewhere in the middle.

In short, and excuse his French: what the fuck.

“You. You drew this.” He repeats.

Wonder Boy looks at him with his big ol’ sleepy calf eyes and nods once. “Yup.” He gives Hwitaek a blatant once-over, the intensity of which has him fighting his own body to stop a heavy blush from rising on his cheeks. Does he look at _everyone_ like that?

Hwitaek feels rather than sees Shinwon poke his head out of the kitchen. “Morning, Hyojong!”

“Mornin’, Shinwonnie.” Hyojong greets him. “How’re the fish?”

Shinwon doesn’t have fish. “You have fish?” Hwitaek asks, suspicious. Maybe it’s code for something. Like marijuana plants. Or secret offspring. Or timeshares. Or –

“Bettas.” Shinwon smiles proudly. “I got six of them on the weekend.”

“Bettas.”

Shinwon nods. “Bettas.”

Bettas. Well, alright then. Hwitaek is a little bit offended that he doesn’t already know about the existence of Shinwon’s new bettas, but that can be remedied.

Hyojong laughs slightly, and Hwitaek remembers what he’s supposed to be doing. “You’ve been messing up the menu boards.” He says sternly. “You need to stop doing that.”

Hyojong quirks an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “Yeah? Who’re you, the art police?”

Shinwon chokes out a laugh. “You’re absolutely the art police.”

“I work here.” Hwitaek replies, ignoring Shinwon’s interjection.

Hyojong’s quirked right brow is joined by his left, disappearing under the mess of his fringe. “Congratulations?”

“He’s a manager.” Shinwon says in a stage-whisper. Hwitaek shoots him a look full of promises of retribution.

Hyojong’s mouth opens in a silent _ah_. “So, you _are_ the art police.” He cocks his head. “Gonna write me up, boss man?”

Hwitaek is entirely nonplussed. Why isn’t he bothered by the possibility of getting in trouble? “Y-yes?”

“You don’t sound super sure.” Hyojong grins. “I go on break in, like…” He checks a watch that Hwitaek hadn’t realised he was wearing. “Ten minutes. How’s about you shout me a free manager’s coffee, an’ we talk about what you’re gonna put in your report?”

“I – that – uh –” What is _happening?_ “O-okay.” For some reason, Hwitaek agrees.

 

Later that day, Hwitaek is sprawled over the entire length of his couch, cold cloth on his forehead, trying to recover from the shock of the entire experience.

“Ah, Hyojong.” Jinho nods. “He’s Hongseok’s roommate. He’s cute, right?” He says nonchalantly, sipping his tea.

“You know Hyojong?” Hwitaek has a brain fart. “You _know_ Hyojong?”

Jinho blinks at him from over the top of his mug. “Yes?”

“You knew who it was all this time, and you didn’t _tell me?_ ” Hwitaek is so offended. What kind of best friend does this?

“I mean, I didn’t know he was your mystery artist, no.” Jinho defends, rubbing absently at a reddish mark on his collarbone. It looks like a bite. Damn, Hongseok. “But I do know him. And you didn’t answer my question.”

Hwitaek glowers. “No.” He grunts.

Jinho _tsks_. “Oh, please. Yes, he is.”

Hwitaek sits up, not caring that the wet flannel is going to soak the crotch of his pants all the way through to his boxers. “Why is that important?”

His friend snorts into his mug, fogging up his glasses with steam. “Why are you so bothered by the question?”

Alright, the wet cloth is bugging him a tiny bit. He folds it and places it primly on the coffee table. “I’m not.”

Jinho snorts again. “Hui, please.”

“I’m not!” Hwitaek insists. “I’m bothered by the fact that he completely disregarded my concerns and used my right to free coffee against me.”

“He gave you the Look, didn’t he?” Jinho says knowingly.

“Yes.” Hwitaek drops his head onto the back of the couch. “Yes, he did.”

He feels Jinho pat his knee. It’s almost paternal, until he says, “Dude. You’re so screwed.”

“What? Why?”

“Hongseok’ll have given him your number by now. Your life shall henceforth never know peace.”

“ _God fucking damn it_.”

**Author's Note:**

> the prompt is from [here](http://authorkurikuri.tumblr.com/post/150984606635/spice-up-those-coffee-shop-aus)!


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